


Coffee Cake and Large Scale Desertion

by uJwArM



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 01:28:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21499582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uJwArM/pseuds/uJwArM
Summary: He sees it coming before much of the others. Can see the inner conflict she tries to hide behind a lowered gaze and drawn markings. The quiet breath that leaves her, final and decided. The withdraw as she shies away from their bond.Wherein Obi-Wan makes a drastic change and regrets very few things.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 76





	Coffee Cake and Large Scale Desertion

It began with the quiet niggling of the Force. A small, trembling little embryo of doubt and a wavering sliver of dread twining in cohesion with his suddenly aching heart.

Satine’s face is still a reoccurring vision, when the Temple is bombed. He’s there, in his quarters, getting ready to turn in for an early night’s rest, when the Force seems to _expand_. Like a band of rubber, the Force and his dread grow with every silent second, _stretching_ and _stretching_ until _wrongness_ pervades his being. He’s standing before his empty bed, awaiting some notice, some signal that he knows will soon dominate his mind.

And it does.

With a sharp, reverberating _snap_ , the Force breaks, and just as some innate fear mounts, the Temple is _rocking_ and there are alarms blaring and lights flashing, and that fear turns to horror as a dozen lives just disappear, like a flame being pinched out.

Some of those lives leave a part of his mind blank, empty and ripped out with such sudden force that he almost scrambles to try and find a way to relieve this sudden rushing pain of loss.

That is when it begins. This sudden devolution into something grander, and something darker.

-

He sees it coming before much of the others. Can see the inner conflict she tries to hide behind a lowered gaze and drawn markings. The quiet breath that leaves her, final and decided. The withdraw as she shies away from their bond.

When she looks up, at Anakin and at him, from where he stands just behind his Padawan, he smiles.

His heart aches, as does what seems to be his very hollow chest, but he cannot leave her alone. Not now, after so long of caring for her. Of guiding her and of loving her like a particularly rebellious granddaughter.

He smiles, kind and of utter understanding-

(because sometimes, when he is alone in his quarters, thinking of Qui-Gon and the Jedi and their promises, he allows himself to think that maybe they are all wrong)

-and bows his head, giving his consent, however unneeded it be.

Her lips quirk just the slightest and she ducks her head again.

Their bond remains intact and warm and a loving caress of affection and approval and _I am proud of you, Ahsoka, no matter your choice. You have every right. My grandpadawan. I will support you no matter. Always._

_Always, Obi-Wan._

Heartbroken. He thinks he is heartbroken.

Her fingers curl over Anakin’s, folding their fingers over one another – over the Padawan braid that had been ripped straight from her along with her title of Jedi Padawan.

Anakin’s incomprehension is almost physically painful to feel through their shared bond. The dawning hurt and anger and betrayal and _agony_ that comes rushing in after is enough to send him to his knees.

Yoda does not look surprised. He looks pained, but knowing.

Mace’s face is void of any expression, and he does not look for it. Because he knows Jedi are not to regret, and to do so, would be unseemly.

Plo-Koon looks plain.

He knows he feels just as heartbroken as himself.

“I’m sorry, Master.” She says, subdued and so mature.

_When had she grown up_? Comes the painful thought.

“But I’m not coming back.”

The finality of it is gut wrenching. The way her back meets his eyes, like one last act of rebellion to the indeterminate faces of the Council. The way Anakin drowns their bond in hurt sorrow and empty loss. The way the doors slide shut and the way his Padawan almost curls in on himself, clutching that last remnant of Ahsoka as if it were his most prized possession.

And all Ob-Wan can see is Satine’s face. A pale shade of the woman hovering just at the cusp of his vision, that rose-tinted face a pallid shade of grey and those sharp, cunning blue eyes listless with tenuous consciousness. Lucid only in the very last moments, to which she held his face and whispered her love.

He can never have that back. That love, her love.

Because she died in his arms, turning into the rotting husk of what he once could have…

Just like Siri.

Anakin shuffles forward, something lost resounding through their thinning bond. Like a lost child.

Obi-Wan watches him leave.

And that strict, unyielding, durasteel part of him breaks. That control, that one that has always kept him firm and straight and narrow, shatters.

(because…)

He steps forward and a hand stalls him, settling like soft linen against his stiff shoulder. His hands want to tremble, and he fists them into each other at his front.

(because if he can’t have Siri… if he can’t have Satine… if he can’t have Bant and Garen and Reeft and Anakin…)

Plo-Koon looks at him with such terrible sadness, that makes Obi-Wans wants to question _why?_

(then what can he have?)

“I…” He starts, his tongue refusing to articulate what he wants… needs to say. He shakes his head, silent.

“Leave, you wish?” Yoda breaks through, gazing up at him with such profound and faltering sorrow. He knows, by the droop of his ears and the slump to his bowing back, the Jedi knows. “To leave the Order, and follow is Padawan Tano’s steps, you wish?”

Mace’s face is tight, jaw flexing with some choice words no doubt. And with shock, as he can sense.

Plo-Koon’s rigid demeanor betrays absolutely nothing.

Obi-Wan breath stutters as it leaves him, and he nods quietly. In his hands, is his lightsaber, blade pointed inwards and hilt facing out towards Yoda’s heavily lined face.

“I cannot…” His tongue remains heavy in his mouth. Again, he shakes his head, and murmurs, softly. “I refuse to leave her. I… I will not leave her, nor my own Padawan if he so chooses. I am sorry,” he mutters, almost shamefully. “But I can no longer fight this war. Not with these causalities and…” Bitter and wry humor pull his lips into some mask of a smile. “I have never been very good at severing my attachments. I suppose Qui-Gon influenced me more than in just the aversion of medical facilities.”

There is an ironic tug at Yoda’s wrinkled lips. “Failed Padawan Tano, the Jedi Order has,” he says. He does not take the offered lightsaber and instead curls Obi-Wan’s own fingers around its silver hilt, in echo of what Ahsoka had done with her own Padawan’s braid. “Forever indebted to Qui-Gon’s lineage, we will be. For the better, your saber will be, with you.”

Obi-Wan feels something swelling in that empty part of his chest, and he smiles, almost reverently at the green troll, and pulls his lightsaber close, smoothing absent fingers over nonexistent mars. His head dips, as does the rest of his body, in an honored bow.

“Then I thank you,” he says, quietly. “It has been a pleasure serving with you Masters, of serving the Temple and those within, and of serving the Republic… Thank you.”

And he turns to leave, to head out of those arching durasteel doors, but his walk stutters, his heels digging. He turns, one last time, looking less formal than before, anxiety turning his mouth.

“Go,” says Yoda. “To see your men, you wish, for one last time. Say your goodbyes, you must, and trust in them that they will do their best in your absence.”

Another smile curves his lips, genuine and beaming. He bows again, slighter this time. “Thank you, Grand Master Yoda.”

It doesn’t take long to track Anakin down. His presence in the Force is a roaring beacon of chaos and confusion and hurt. Ahsoka’s, however, is a small flame of calm, with wisps of betrayal rooted deep within like ivory veins.

Ahsoka sees him before Anakin can sense him, and her face shutters some more, their bond going taut with a sudden influx of emotions he doesn’t need to identify stem from his position on the Council – and in turn, his part in her exile from the Jedi Order.

Force, does he regret not trying harder.

Anakin turns, following Ahsoka’s stare, and blinks at him, surprise coloring his face. And wasn’t that sad? That seeing his own Master in such dire times was fully unexpected.

Obi-Wan smiles anyhow, a cheerful little tilt to his head. “Hello Anakin, Ahsoka.” His smile turns to wry as he looks to the Padawan of his Padawan. “You made quite the exit there, Ahsoka,” he laughs, ignoring the scandalized look on Anakin’s rapidly reddening features. “To say I’m proud of you would be an understatement.”

Abruptly, the anger fizzles and Anakin looks confused. Ahsoka’s face lights up with stunned disbelief.

“What? Master, I…” There’s a lingering resentment in his padawan’s tone, the barest marks of a snarl working on his nose and mouth. “I don’t understand – what are you—”

And Obi-Wan smiles, because if he cannot have Siri, cannot have Satine, nor Reeft, Garen… _Bant_ … what he can have, is a will of his own.


End file.
